Arc 1: Chapter 5
Aymeric
A familiar scene greeted him upon awakening. A swirling vortex of dark blue flames violently spun above him, transcending endlessly to the void above.
In truth, it was a rather beautiful sight.
In fact, it would have been more beautiful if he hadn't found himself here, presumably unconscious in the real world for the second time in less than an hour.
He slowly sat up, surprised when he felt no sense of adrenaline running through his body. No nerves. No anxiousness. There was a calming feeling of peace and serenity flowing through him. Taking a moment, he closed his eyes and embraced the feeling.
The sound of shattering glass paradoxically echoed throughout the dimension. By this point, he'd come to expect the sound.
"I see you've become acquainted with the tranquility this world provides." This voice was new. Carefree and scratchy.
Jaune opened his eyes to an unfamiliar face. A man with a rather young-looking face, but with hardened violet eyes that betrayed his boyish looks. Dark scruff lined his chin, matching his short and unruly dark hair. He wore simple leather armor that offered little to none protection, but plenty of mobility.
As someone who studied under a Pathfinder for over a year, he could appreciate that.
The man inclined his head, introducing himself. "Peregrinus Arc, The Wanderer. At your service."
"The… Wanderer?" Jaune asked.
"Indeed. Over the ages, each ruler was renowned for things that left a lasting mark on the kingdom. I myself was known as The Wanderer. I was quick like the wind and went where no man had gone before. I forsake the safety of Ishgard and ventured outwards, leaving behind a path for the future generations to follow. That very path just so happened to lead them to what you know today as Vale."
Jaune lost his composure for a minute, the realization slowly sinking in that this man was the founder of Vale. Abruptly thrown off his internal balance, he allowed peace and serenity to wash over him once more. Quite handy, that.
"So, you're similar to a Pathfinder then. Or at least, the concept behind them."
"The first of few, in essence. I traveled the continent far and wide, creating magical safe havens throughout Sanus, providing other travelers protection from the forces of the Darkness." Peregrinus explained.
"You mentioned Ishgard. As in the "knights versus dragons of Grimm?" fairy tale Ishgard?"
Peregrinus let out a roaring laugh, Jaune's heart jumping through his chest in surprise.
"Ha! Grimm dragons! If only! Those tales are partially true, however those brave knights didn't fight Grimm, they fought true dragons that made even the eldest Wyvern look like an ant!" Peregrinus jovially explained, starting to slowly pace in front of Jaune, his arms waving around as he spoke.
Jaune didn't even blink.
"Those weren't brave knights either by the way, they were Dragoons! Fierce warriors who were born from the blood of a most primal wyym. Their very blood allowed them to slay wyrms with no competition. Ironic in a sense, but mind you, it was supremely effective. Combined with the magic granted to them by our family, these warriors could soar into the heavens and fight these beasts in their own territory- the sky!" Peregrinus was exuberant now, his enthusiasm growing as he told his tale.
"So. Real dragons were apparently a thing. History textbooks didn't mention that."
"Ishgard is a… guarded place, if you will. The kingdom itself is reclusive, built into a floating mountain of enormous proportions with naught but one bridge to connect it to the rest of the world."
"However, with the constant growth of the Grimm, many of these beasts were wiped out- the rest forced into hiding lest they become extinct."
'I think I need to talk about something normal before I lose what little is left of my sanity'
"You mentioned our family granted these warriors our magic. If that were true, wouldn't there be a bunch of magic users running around the world? Wouldn't my sisters have it? My father? Myself? Well, before I found a magical ring deep in the forest, that is."
Logically, it would make sense. If magic ran through his bloodline, then it would only make sense that his closest family- namely his sisters and father would inherently have magic as well. Not to mention the descendants of these so-called Dragoons. Maybe the magic that had been granted to them was only temporary? Too many questions and not nearly enough answers.
"The royal family has always been able to grant their glaive a fraction of the arcane power that lies within the ring. However, there is a catch to it, if you will. The ring allows you to bless no more than three people with the magic it holds. In order to bless anyone else, the source of their power must come from elsewhere." With a gesture of his hand, a small projection of large, fragmented crystal appeared.
The crystal was large and inside it held galaxies of brilliantly colored stars. A truly endless fountain of the light. Extremely similar to the Ring, in fact.
"When the Brothers and other deities walked upon this world, magic was as commonplace as aura. Magical artifacts were aplenty, though the power of some dwarfed others. An artifact known as "The Crystal" was one such artifact that had been forged by the Elder Brother. This artifact was gifted to a legendary and righteous hero- one so pure of heart and soul that the brothers themselves though him capable of uniting humanity as one."
"Not to interrupt you, but could you clarify a few things for me?" If Peregrinus was offended at the interruption, he didn't show it, instead impassively nodding at him.
"Magic seems like it comes with a lot of catches. The Ring-" Jaune held up his hand and pointed to the piece of jewelry-" can bless only three people with a fraction of its power. This Crystal, which supposedly has more magic in it, can do the same, but on a grander scale. What's the catch, though? If it were that easy, someone would've blessed an entire army and wiped out the Grimm by now," Jaune asked, though it was more of him translating his rambling thoughts into words rather than a posed question.
"I must say, I believe the others have underestimated how perceptive you are. I digress, though. Your hypothesis is correct, if not only slightly inaccurate. The Ring carries an extremely high potency of magic within it. Thus, while the blessings it can give are numbered, they are exponentially more powerful than those provided by the Crystal. The power the Ring bestows allows the usage of abilities that only Royal Family are typically capable of performing."
Jaune quickly summarized the rest for himself. "The less people blessed, the greater the power they have. Blessing a great number of people would only result in reducing the potency of magic. Bless too many, and the benefits may end up being completely useless."
Peregrinus gave a pleased nod. "Dare I ask where you received your wit from?" It was more of a rhetorical question, but Jaune took the opportunity to answer it nonetheless.
"I grew up with seven sisters, a partially absent father who abhorred the thought of training me, and a passive, indifferent mother. Mind you, this is also when I spent the better of two years of my life secretly training at the Huntsman Lodge without being allowed to unlock my aura.
I had to learn how to be deceptive and perceptive in a trial by fire. Arkend is a pretty big place, but trying to hide all of that from seven nosy sisters for two years is a good learning experience as any. It's hard to put into words, but I didn't have the luxury of waiting for someone to give me the answers to all my problems- I had to figure it all out on my own, with no room for a second chance."
A thoughtful hum was his only response.
"We've been watching over you for quite a long time, young prince. While that may be true, there's also no denying while you may have been physically behind your peers, you certainly weren't behind them intellectually. It seems to have benefited you in the long run."
"So you're basically implying my brains up made up for me being a literal noodle."
"Precisely!" Peregrinus happily chirped.
Jaune's eye twitched.
"Let's get back to where we were, shall we?" Jaune all-too-happily obliged, preferring not to be thrown under the metaphorical bus by his ancestor again.
"As you may already know, a king is nothing without his allies. Huntsman or not, the ability to gift part of our powers to our allies makes for an extremely formidable force when trained. Tell me, what do you last remember during your battle?"
"I used the Ring, for starters. All I thought was 'I need to protect everyone' and then I saw a vision. It was like I was in the body of someone else in a similar situation, I guess. I saw them construct some sort of… barrier and I tried doing the same," Jaune explained.
"Yes! When Sophus mumbled on about all his "your ancestors stand with you" mumbo-jumbo, he wasn't kidding. We quite literally fight with you. What you saw was a memory of one of us during our lifetimes. The vision you saw was our way of teaching you what your needed in that extreme moment."
"You took it further than that, though. Didn't you?" Peregrinus questioned knowingly.
"I'm... not really sure. I remember projecting the barrier just like I had seen, but it wasn't enough. I had never used magic before- I didn't understand how to strengthen it. Frankly, I didn't understand how to do anything except stay still and pray not moving too much wouldn't break the barrier." Jaune quietly intoned.
"Yes. While your first attempt at creating a shield was well-done, it wasn't enough. So tell me, what happened next? What did you do that allowed you to strengthen the shield as you did?"
"I remembered being told to trust my instincts. I was terrified of dying and I felt my mind drift, I guess. Sort of like when one of you talks to me in my mind. I needed to know how to make the shield stronger, and then the answer sort of just… well, came to me."
Peregrinus gave a pleased nod. "Recall what I said earlier about each ruler before you. They were known for something that defined their rule, whether it be a heroic feat or character trait. I was known as the Wanderer. Crepera was the Rogue. Sophus was the Wise. Callidus, the Clever. As the title implies, you can guess what knowledge and skills they specialized in."
"They weren't who you needed, though. Sure, they all could create shields that would put yours to shame in but the snap of their fingers, yet they couldn't teach you the innate workings of the skill. Which parts of the spell itself to change in order to modify it to your needs. So, you instinctually called out to the person who could. The Mystic." The name had been said with a certain reverence to it, one Jaune didn't miss.
"The Mystic?"
"Somnus Arcus, The Mystic. Believe me when I say that no one understands magic better than him. It's why he was known as the Mystic. His mastery of the arcane arts made him a myth to even the most wizened magic-users of his time. Of course, you could expect no less from the Founder King himself," Peregrinus explained.
"In your time of most dire need, you reached out to Somnus. In listening to your instincts without fail, your opened your mind, body, and soul to us. Doing so allowed Somnus to fight as one with you, lending you his knowledge and strength as if it were your own. If you weren't capable of completely trusting your instincts as you did, I would venture to say you surely would have died. To call upon one of us in such a manner takes a trust so intimate and unquestionable. Your ability to do so saved your life, and that of your comrades."
"If your need any further proof, recall what happened afterwards. You near-instantaneously closed the distance between yourself and your attacker, striking back with your Elemancy. To be able to do these things at such a high level of proficiency takes months, if not years of dedicated training. You did so in less than a minute. Not without a price, though. Can you guess as to what that price is?"
Jaune thoughtfully hummed. "I performed techniques far beyond my skill level with no prior training. I imagine it's similar to pulling a muscle because you didn't stretch it beforehand."
Peregrinus nodded. "Magic is powerful, but it is not all-powerful. The Ring is one of the most powerful mediums one could wield when using magic. As you simplified, one cannot simply sprint before they crawl. You must become accustomed to magic and its fundamentals. Practice will garner you greater control over it, while simultaneously lessening the burden of casting it."
"Allow me to show you." Fire sparked in the Wanderer's hand, quickly morphing to lightning which raced across his fingertips. "Elemancy, the art of manipulating the elements. In your recent battle, you called out to lightning subconsciously. You show great promise in that aspect of Elemancy."
The lighting dispersed, replaced by a fair-sized knife, which Peregrinus blindly threw behind him. It hit the floor with a clang and in the blink of an eye, his ancestor disappeared in a beautiful shower of purple sparks and flames. Like embers from a fire, they drifted to the ground, bouncing around in energized sparks. Looking up, Jaune saw his ancestor immediately reappear over the knife in the same fashion.
"Warping. Arguably one of the most versatile of the arts we've been gifted. The ability to throw a weapon and simultaneously warp to its location. The ability to close the distance or make distance between your opponent in a fight near-instantaneously. In some cases, it can be used in close combat to continually confuse and flank your opponent. While not limited to a weapon you will find it most easy to warp using an object as a medium, such as a weapon, rather than nothing."
Peregrinus walked towards Jaune, who stood in mild awe. It seemed the boy was quickly adjusting to the reality of things. Good.
"Without even a modicum of training in the arcane, you used both of these abilities at a level that you should be incapable of performing at. Think of it as trying to fire a cannonball through your gun. Except, replace the cannonball with magic and the gun with yourself as the medium. That is what you subjected your body to just now."
"Yikes." How eloquent.
Peregrinus allowed himself a small grin. "Yikes indeed. You can't be faulted for acting on instinct in a life-or-death moment like that. To be technical, it was Somnus who was guiding your actions. He wouldn't have guided you to perform what you did on the scale that you did unless it was necessary."
Jaune sighed. "A sore body is an insignificant price to pay for life."
"Quite." Holding up the knife before him, it turned a translucent blue before it vanished in a glow of translucent blue. In the same manner, a much larger double-sided sword took its place.
"This magic shit is really starting to get ridiculous." Jaune rolled his eyes, but the twinkle in them betrayed his words.
Peregrinus chuckled. "Inter-dimensional storage. The most convenient of our abilities. The power to store most things in another dimension, not so dissimilar to this one, and to call upon it at will. Simultaneously, this is what you will use to store the Armiger."
"I'm sorry- the what now?" Jaune deadpanned.
Peregrinus paused, giving Jaune a thoughtful look. "You may consider this to be one of the first of your many trials on your quest to reclaim the throne."
"Scattered across Sanus are royal tombs, precisely like the one you discovered the Ring in. Inside these tombs are the resting place of your ancestors- and in said resting places lay the Royal Arms. These are exceptionally powerful. They are forged from what you know as Vytalian Steel and imbued with our very souls, along with magic from the Ring. The collection of these weapons is called the Armiger. The greater your collection of these arms, the greater your power." Peregrinus explained.
Jaune sat on the ground, loudly sighing in exasperation.
"I have so many questions, but it sounds like I've finally got some form of direction to start this suicide mission." With a roll of his eyes, he stood again, slowly pacing in circles.
"Getting in contact with Ozpin is priority number one. There's still a month before the semester begins, so that should give me at least a little bit of time on starting to track down the Royal Arms."
"Then, I just need to overthrow the entire council and reclaim the throne. Right. No big deal at all. Cakewalk." Sarcasm rolled from his voice.
"Ozpin and his allies will aid you through the political warfare and logistics. The key behind this is you, Jaune. Your grandfather and father refused our call and our Kingdom has suffered because of it. The council that now touts themselves as the just and benevolent rulers of the kingdom must be disposed of, no matter the cost. They were created for the explicit purpose of assisting the king in ruling, not ruling it themselves so they can run our legacy into the ground!" Peregrinus growled out.
Jaune stopped in his tracks, turning to look at his ancestor. "What exactly do you mean they refused your call?" he questioned.
The now-familiar sound of warping caught his attention, and he turned to face the armored visage of Crepera.
"It is precisely as he said. It is also precisely the same reason your father refused to give you training. He is naught but a spineless coward who turned his back on his life and legacy! Instead, he totes around as some skewed vision of a war hero, fighting a losing battle against the Grimm. The small-minded fool believes simply killing the Grimm is enough to protect humanity. As if! For every beast slain, she will simply create a hundred more to take its place!" Crepera was livid, slowly invading his personal space inch by inch. Jaune took a step forward, challenging her lumbering form.
Jaune's eyes narrowed. While he and his father had their notable differences, Artorian was still his father and someone he held a tremendous amount of respect for. Past ruler or not, no one would dare speak ill of his family in such a manner. No after all his father had sacrificed to defend Remnant.
Speaking in a mockery of the same prose his ancestors used when he first met them, he challenged Crepera, "How noble of you to insult my father, oh great ancestor. How great and powerful thou must hath been in your time that I stand here before thou in some alternate reality, speaking to thy restless spirit!" He said loudly, stepping up toe-to-toe with the giant. No one dared to insult his family in such a manner. Especially the long-since-departed.
"Watch thy tongue, lest I flay it from your corpse, boy! You know nothing of sacrifices I have made for thy family, the deeds I have done to ensure that thou even had the opportunity to stand before us to begin with." She retorted gravely, bending over to peer into Jaune's eyes.
"Yes, thou must hath done a world of good if all thou hast to show for it is thy rotting corpse and thy tormented soul haunting thy descendants! Sending me on a suicide mission was an inglorious way to touch it up!" He raised himself to the tips of his toes, closing whatever distance he could between them.
Her armored form shook with unbridled rage that he could feel rolling off her in waves. It was staggering, freezing him in place. She stepped back, summoning two shurikens the size of his body into each of her hands.
On instinct alone, Jaune reached out towards Peregrinus, his unique double-bladed glaive appearing in his hand with a dazzling flash of blue.
He would not yield to the dead.
"Thou are but a babe with no training, no discipline, no respect, and naught a clue about the depths of the power thou hath been granted! With a weapon that is not thy own, thou dare to raise a blade in opposition of me? Thou will pay for such arrogance! Thou fate shall be naught but death!" Crepera's armored form hummed with rage and power, the depths of which he had only felt when drawing on the magics within the ring.
He readied his borrowed weapon nonetheless. He knew that a fight with Crepera would end only one way, but he would never forgive himself if he sat idly by while someone attacked his family in such a manner. Even if it was coming from his own family.
"If you proclaim my fate is naught but death, then I shall render that fate asunder, and break it with my own two hands!" Jaune angrily retorted.
Pushing serenity and peace from his thoughts, he allowed himself to revel in his emotions, allowing his drive to protect his family's name and anger towards his ancestors to fuel his courage. Purple sparks of lightning intermittently sparked from his fingertips, his body humming with the ancient eldritch within the Ring.
His blood pumped through his heart in rapid, hammering beats. His body and mind tingled in anticipation, the dopamine and adrenaline that could only be the result of a battle about to ensue causing his body to vibrate in palpable excitement.
Crepera moved with a boom, the flawless marble floor left cracked and cratered from the sheer power of her launch. His eyes could barely perceive her form rushing towards him. He hastily raised his glaive to cover his upper body, praying his prediction of where she would attack was true.
Before her mighty shurikens could collide with his sword, a blur appeared in his periphery. Crepera's shurikens collided with something, but whatever that something was, it wasn't his. A man of tall stature appeared in front of him, his long and wild dark hair gently swaying before him. He held a beautifully intricate spear above his head with one hand, blocking both of Crepera's massive shurikens with minimal effort.
With inhuman speed the man spun the glaive above his head, scoring a blow against Crepera' chest, staggering her guard. A fireball formed in his other hand. Without hesitation, he placed his hand on her abdomen, flames roaring at the contact. Crepera's hulking form was sent flying through the air, harshly landing on the marbled floor in an uncontrolled roll.
She quickly recovered, using a hand to steady herself, flipping to her feet. "Aymeric." She growled. "How like your namesake of you to go running to the aid of the unworthy. What a savior you truly are!" She spat, rising to her feet.
Ignoring the seething woman, Aymeric turned to face Jaune. Unlike his wandering ancestor, the man had warm, yet pale grey-blue eyes. His face was that of a young adult's, but strewn with a weariness that was typically only seen in people twice his age. Curiously enough, he stood a full head taller than Jaune and had… pointy ears?
"You'll have to forgive our dearest Crepera. You see, she can be… difficult to deal with, sometimes. You did well to stand your ground, young prince. You certainly did a wonderful job of riling her up. What a true bit of entertainment this was." His voice was moderately deep and airy. There was an unmistakable playful tone to it, showing how he obviously reveled in taunting Crepera.
With a snap of his fingers, a wall of blue flames separated the distance between Crepera themselves. Jaune looked around him, Peregrinus nowhere to be seen.
"You've heard my name, but permit me to stand on ceremony and introduce myself nonetheless. Aymeric Arc. In my time, I reforged the broken city of Ishgard and lead the Dragoons into battle against Nidhogg, rage incarnate."
"You have many questions that you've received naught but vague answers and half-truths to." Aymeric extended his hand, a kind smile gracing his face. "Come. Walk with me and allow me to enlighten you." Jaune took it readily, vanishing in a shower of flames and sparks.
Headmaster Ozpin Perseus Izunia sat comfortably in his office high atop Beacon's tower. A steaming cup of hot chocolate sat on his desk, which was surprisingly clear of paperwork for a change. At the prime -for a Huntsman at least- age of 35, he could soundly say that life was good.
He stood up, slowly walking around the circumference of his office. He tuned out the conversation on his desk's projected screen. It seemed that the good General Ironwood Of Atlas was getting into another heated debate with the kind Headmaster of Haven Academy, Leonardo Lionheart. He imagined the Headmistress of Shade Academy in Vacuo, Lady Ta'li of the Sleeping Sands was thoroughly enjoying their bickering. He certainly did.
"I'm telling you Leonardo, what you're suggesting is not going to be a viable solution!" Oh. It seemed the General was getting a bit too worked up again.
"Now now, I'm sure Leo's intentions are-" Ozpin stopped short.
His golden eyes widened in shock. His mug and cane slipped from his hands, one clattering to the floor, and the other smashing into pieces with the unmistakable sound of a thousand mirrors breaking at once. He stood still as a statue. The Light surged through him, stronger than he had ever felt it in the many centuries he had been alive. The force of it nearly sent him to his knees.
Light. Resurgence. Boundless. Unbroken.
Ozpin reached his senses out, attempting to gain clarity on what the Light was showing him.
The reply was clear.
King.
The Light embraced him, warming him to his core in a way he hadn't felt in centuries. The last time the Light had been this strong, he was leading a band of his faithful companions in a great war against the lesser Astral deities. It quickly left his senses, continuing to pulse outwards as far as he could see, soon passing over the horizon.
He smiled.
"Uh-oh. I think his brain finally caught up with his hair color," Ta'Li stage whispered.
"Did you feel it?" Ozpin asked, his exuberant smile failing to falter.
"Feel what, Ozpin?"Leonardo asked, his face etched with concern.
"It would appear that an ally long thought lost has returned to the stage for the final act." The smile didn't disappear from his face, but he reigned in his emotions.
The other headmasters shared a concerned look amongst themselves.
Ozpin continued to smile to himself.
Cold.
That was the first thought in Jaune's mind as he stood high above the clouds. Beneath him was the expanse of a large city, largely made of finely-cut stone and beautifully stained glass. Some wooden buildings were thrown into the mix, but the incredible craftsmanship of this city's masonry was unparalleled by anything he'd seen before.
Far to the south, he could make out the vestiges of Beacon Tower, warm colors of the sunset shining through the green glass in all directions. Beautiful snow-capped mountains spanned outwardly in an endless expanse.
How long?
How long had Beacon Tower stood, shining its light for leagues unending? Was this the desperately clung-to hope that the people of the Dark Ages sought strength in? Was it what the current people of Remnant sought?
A wave of melancholy eclipsed within him. It didn't belong to him, no, but the feeling echoed deep within his soul. There was a greatness that had been lost in this city, in this continent as a whole.
Soft footsteps clacked gently against the stone balcony he stood upon. He turned, looking up into Aymeric's eyes. The melancholy resonated within him once more, a mirror echo of the pained expression on Aymeric's face. A cold, bitter wind blew, jostling his dark hair.
"Once upon a time, this city was besieged by dragons for hundreds of years. We lived under the corrupt rule of a fanatical and power-obsessed king who would stop at nothing to slay the wyrms, even if it meant the continuation of a pointless war for generations to come."
"How ironic that in your time, a time wherein my people dreamed of a better future free of conflict, it is naught but rife with it? An endless battle against the Grimm. An endless battle against humans. Against faunus. Against races that humanity has yet to re-encounter simply because they cannot move beyond their walls. This world has so much to offer, but what is the point in ever attempting to seize it if humanity cannot stand united?"
"How long has that man walked this realm attempting to do just that? Fate is harsh, indeed."
Slowly walking over to the stone guardrail, Aymeric leaned against it, his figure blocking out the rays of sunset from Jaune's vision.
"You remind me of a dear friend, to be honest. A travelling warrior fleeing from their land, seeking refuge in the shadow of Ishgard. A nobody, at first. Here was I, illegitimate son of the King. Commander of the Knights. In a position of power I never asked for. Never would I have thought that wandering traveler to perform the deeds they did."
"Revealing the truth behind the centuries-old conflict with the dragons. Defending a land and a people not his own, whom he owed nothing to against my tyrannical father. Time and time again risking everything for nothing in return. When Nidhogg controlled the body of my closest friend, he stopped at nothing to save him. In the very end, he tried to spare and save the soul of rage incarnate, still believing he could see the good within him. Estinien had been saved. Isghard had been saved. Peace was struck between the dragons and Ishgard."
"In the end, he saved us all. In my last act as the acting head-of-state, I disbanded the theocracy that had driven our country for so long. In its place, the people could form their own republic- they could have their own choice in how their lives and country were led. I could step down, give my people what they truly wanted. Freedom."
"Ironically enough, that weary traveler stood faithfully with my people when they rallied behind me to become their new leader. I never wanted such responsibility or power. The popularity, the recognition. I never wanted it."
"I looked to my friend. The End of Ascalon. The Blood Dragoon. The end of the Dragonsong war, slayer of Nidhogg, rage and vengeance incarnate. I saw the look on his face. The same one you so frequently wear. And I understood. I understood that fate had never choose anything for me. I had shaped my own destiny."
"In return, I would be the destiny that my people shaped for themselves."
Aymeric took a long breath, a warm cloud of air gently being swept away by the soft currents of the cold wind.
"I have waited centuries, hoping that my next descendant would be the last to be weighed down by this prophecy. That the next would be the one to defeat the dark queen. The end of the Grimm. Uniter of humanity. Of course, they never were able to, though that was never any fault of their own."
"But you, Jaune… You…"
"I see things in you. Things since your very childhood. I've seen the hardships you've pushed through. The loss you've endured. The naive idealism just realistic and cynical enough to be what this world needs. Other rulers would waste centuries so their will would be imposed on the next child of light. That this war be won on their terms, and no others. I have watched for far too long as we've lost this war ourselves."
"We are all dead. We played our part. Mine was becoming the embodiment of hope and change my people needed. Who are we to tell you how to face your destiny, if such a thing even truly exists?"
"The others would have you run in circles, collecting the royal arms. Amassing your strength. Uniting a merry band of followers to challenge the queen. The same tactics. The same tragic end. You are the change. This war ends with you, Jaune."
"On this day, and never again shall you follow the old ones. Heed their advice, but shape your destiny with your own two hands. Tear fate asunder. Spit in the face of death and carve your own path towards the future."
Aymeric slowly stepped in front of Jaune, a familiar spear materializing in his ancestor's outstretched hands. It was a wicked thing, sleek and dark with a faint blue pulsing glow to it. Runic markings ran along the shaft and blades of the weapon. Its point was sharp, not dissimilar to a large needle. A weapon surely to pierce the hide of any wyrm or Grimm. Two intricate, bladed wings decorated the base of the blade, sharply curved on the blades and blunted on the inside.
"This is Gae Bolg, the Lance of Destiny. 'Twas by this blade that the Dragonsong war was ended. It is blessed by the light and shall smite away the darkest of evils. Unlike the other Royal Arms, this weapon is not locked away in a tomb. It sits atop the throne of Ishgard, passed down from generation to generation, awaiting the champion of light to retrieve it so that it may destroy the darkness once more."
Jaune gently took the weapon into his hands. It slowly phased away in a calming swirl of purple and blue sparks. He felt what was akin to a hammer striking a tempering piece of metal on the anvil within his soul. In a paradoxical manner, he felt a partial sense of completion within him. A puzzle piece that yet left an unfinished mystery.
"You have formally received my soul and my blessing of my Royal Arm. You must now claim the glaive for yourself. I will be with you when you awaken to answer your questions and to begin your training."
"These are your first steps, young Prince."
Beacon Academy was truly a grand and marvelous place. It didn't quite compare to Ishgard, but was something to behold in its own way.
There was a flurry of hustle and bustle around him as new potential students hurried along with their luggage. Many narrowly avoided colliding with each other as they tried to navigate the large crowd in the airship plaza. If nothing else, it was rather entertaining to watch.
Rather than fighting through the horde of students disembarking from the airships, he sat contentedly on the wing of a rather large transport-variant Bullhead. He rested his arm on his knee, his free leg dangling off the side. The winged blade that decorated the posterior of his greaves clinked gently against the hard metal of the ship intermittently, the sound drowned by the commotion below.
He played with the interlocking pieces on his gauntlets to pass the time, toying with small arm-blades that mirrored his greaves. Eventually, once satisfied that the crowd had dissipated enough, he vaulted off his seat, the twenty foot fall billowing his cloak around him. He landed with a quiet clink of his greaves and started at a leisurely pace towards the auditorium.
Gae Bolg comfortably rested on his back, the weight of the weapon grounding himself in the here and now. While he had the ability to store the weapon away in his small pocket dimension, courtesy of the Ring, he much preferred to keep the weapon on him. Plus, it wouldn't do to go pulling weapons out of thin air so soon. A certain level of secrecy had to be maintained, even here at Beacon. The enemy could have spies anywhere. Drawing undue attention to himself would surely work against him down the road for his more long-term plans.
He looked up towards Beacon's tower, eyeing the marvel he had seen atop the peak of Ishgard a month ago.
'It was not too long ago that I watched you gaze out at this tower as you fell from the heights of Ishgard. I can't quite remember if you were left speechless by the sight of it, or if it was due to the fact that you were falling miles towards the Remnant again.'
Oh Aymeric, what a joyous entertainment you are.
"Well, if you would have told me that you were going to throw me down twenty-five thousand feet to my death in order for me to learn the art of the Dragoon, maybe I wouldn't have been so shell-shocked."
'Where's the fun in that?'
Jaune pointedly ignored his ancestor, walking with measured steps towards the large building ahead of him that held the auditorium. Aymeric's presence gently vanished from his mind, his ancestor preferring to leave him to his own devices. For the most part, Jaune had taken to keeping his other ancestors at the background of his mind, scarcely conversing with the few that had presented themselves to him.
Sophus and Peregrinus sometimes spoke to him and he was almost positive he had managed to reach out to the Founder King once, but it was mostly Aymeric he turned to for guidance. This quest of his was something that he had to be able to conduct on his own. The advice of his ancestors would always be welcome, but his family line was the personification of history repeating itself in dreadful failure.
It seemed the ancestors that watched over him diligently felt the same as him. Unlike that day in the forest weeks ago, he never felt the brash intrusion of his ancestors in his mind. They were content in letting him find his own way. For now, at least.
On the other hand, he had learned much about the history of this world and its inhabitants. Far more than any history book could explain. The days he spent at the Holy See of Isghard were full of vigorous training provided by Aymeric and amazingly, the people who still inhabited the floating nation. The other part was filled with learning as much as he could about the world.
Forgotten races. Cities and kingdoms lost to time. The millenniums-long war between the Witch and the Wizard. It was in these truths that Jaune saw why Crowley became a Pathfinder. The idea that Crowley might find a "lost" civilization such as Ishgard would be a turning point in history. Of course, there were and are reasons that Ishgard remained secluded from the rest of Remnant. Things would stay that way for now. It was safer for the Ishgardian people if the Witch continued to believe they were but a relic of the past.
Humanity was far from ready to unite in such a way. The Huntsman Lodge was the closest thing to the only acceptable unified force ready to be used in such lengths. There would come a time when the people of the continent would unite, but it was not now. No, Vale was the first step. The council would have to be rendered obsolete one way or another. His very birth and blood-right or not, they would never relinquish their power held over the Kingdom.
Not unless their hand was forced.
All in due time.
Jaune stopped suddenly, nearly colliding with the person in front of him. In his internal ramblings, it appeared that he had lost track of his surroundings. He could already hear Crowley admonishing him from beyond the grave.
His quick reaction was for naught as another person bumped into him from behind, the inevitable effect of such an event causing him to stumble into the person in front of him. A surprised yelp caught his attention as he quickly caught his balance. He grumbled at the person who was already quickly walking away from him.
He glanced down to the figure that sat before him, white as snow, her icy, venomous glare leveled evenly at him disdain. Her eyes were a dazzling hue of blue, pale as a winter's sky - even more beautiful than the crystal fields of Coerthas. Her soft, porcelain skin was free of blemishes, only boasting an angry scar that trailed across her left eye. Recent, judging by how red and tender it appeared.
He gazed into her eyes, feeling his heart quicken and his very soul resonating with the girl before him. She must have felt it as well, as her venomous glare eased into something more akin to disdained confusion. His soul sung a great song and it was then that he knew why he was experiencing this inexplicable feeling. It would appear that the blood of dragons ran through this girl's veins as it did he. As so Aymeric's blood contained that of wyrms, so was it passed down through the generations unto he. This girl's blood was leagues more potent with it than his own, though.
He would ponder this later.
He reached a hand out to the woman sat before him. "Apologies, miss?" he asked, matching her inquisitive gaze with his own.
Her delicate, soft hand grasped his and with no effort he assisted the fair maiden to her feet. She stood a full head and half below him, albeit proudly and with a measured grace to her movements.
"Weiss Schnee. A prestigious institution such as this would require a modicum of grace on your feet, would it not, mister?" The question was matched with an accusatory glare that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Jaune Arc. I must say that your question is better off being answered by the countless numbers of people here who can't seem to help but run into everyone" he evenly replied.
"You mean like you just did to me?"
"I did not run into you. I stumbled," he retorted with some small amount of indignation.
Her unmarred eye twitched ever so imperceptibly.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood even straighter.
He watched the expressions imperceptibly change across her face as she attempted to calm herself.
'Oh, she'll be even more fun to rile up than Crepera!' a jubilant voice exclaimed in the back of his mind. To be frank, Aymeric probably wasn't wrong.
"So, Arc is it? I assume by your appearance you hold relation to Sir Artorian?"
Jaune's carefree expression dropped, the narrowing of his eyes anything but subtle. He could feel the frown etching itself across his lips, helpless to stop it.
'Sir Artorian, huh? Always the righteous hero, aren't you, Father?'
"I do, by no infinitesimal amount of unfortunate providence." The edge in his voice was harsher than he expected, but Weiss merely raised an eyebrow in response to his mannerisms.
He should be better than this by now. Not weighed down by his own personal grievances with his family.
"In the same return, I would assume you hold relation to Jacques Schnee?" He already knew the answer, but turning the tables back over to the white-haired girl would ease his restless emotions.
"You would be correct. Jacques Schnee of the Schnee Dust Company and House Schnee would be my father," she replied. The pompous attitude he'd expected to hear her words with were surprisingly absent, instead replaced by some grudging form of respect, or was it disdain. My, what a beautifully crafted mask she maintained.
"By no infinitesimal amount of unfortunate providence," she added.
'Oh, I like this one.'
Jaune cracked a cheeky grin at both the girl before him and Aymeric's comment. "I dare not presume, but it seems we have a mutual understanding o familial complications, Miss Schnee."
Very cheeky indeed.
"It would appear as such, Mister Arc," she returned with a small, but noticeable twitch of her lips.
They were interrupted by the sound of a mic being tapped and a subtle clearing of the throat. His attention was reluctantly torn from the beautiful woman in front of him to the white-haired man at center stage.
He could feel the waves of Light rolling off of this man in bounds, the sheer volume of it enough to make goosebumps rise along his arms. This was him, then. The Hero with no Fear. Adviser to the Founder King. The Great Wizard. The slayer of Nidhogg. Liberator of the Far East. Headmaster. Pathfinder. Lord Commander.
"Greetings and welcome to Beacon Academy. For those unaware, I am Ozpin Izunia, the headmaster of this school." His eyes wandered across the sea of students before him, eventually locking with Jaune's. The Light sung around them as Ozpin studied Jaune.
Ignoring the awkward pause that Ozpin appeared unperturbed by, he continued.
"Woe, but humble monuments to creation we are, for everything that is splendid and great stands at the end of incalculable chance and mayhem."
Familiar words.
"A friend from a long time since past told me those words once. Even to this day, I still ponder his words and their meaning. I see two truths within. One, that we are all but small pieces compared to the cosmic order of the universe. Two, that of this cosmic order, we stand here as great agents of change. Incalculable. Unpredictable. Your own hard work brought you here. For others, their innate talent carried them to great heights. Never predictable, though. Always changing is our world."
"I ask this of you. What is the defining characteristic of a Huntsman? Some of you will speak of our skill in slaying monsters. Others, the charity and hope we spread throughout the kingdom. All of these may be true, yet they do not define what we are at our core. Would any of you care to guess what that is?"
Students broke out in quiet mumbles. Some were confused and unsure. Others began discussing between themselves.
Jaune looked down at his own two hands and the ring that sat on his finger. And with no hesitation, he raised his hand up high, much to the surprise of the girl next to him.
As if a conductor had begun to silence the orchestra, the mumbles turned into hushed whispers, which dissipated into a deafening silence.
Ozpin stretched a hand out to him, giving him the metaphorical floor to speak.
"I can do many things with my own hands. I can slay monsters. I can defend the downtrodden. I can scour the wilds, forging a new path forward for humanity like those who came before us. I can defend the kingdoms from within against those who would use their abilities irresponsibly. I can do all of these things, yet it would change nothing," Jaune said, his voice clear and echoing throughout the large chamber.
"We've been losing this war for centuries. Our territories shrink by the years. Our communities, divided, our kingdoms, fractured. This vicious cycle has been repeating itself long before the Huntsman Order was founded. This cycle will not change, and we will inevitably lose to the fate that awaits us when the wheel ceases to turn.
"But… with these two hands, I can defy that fate. I can take hold of the path before me and shape it to what I want it to be. I needn't be beholden to that cruel fate. With these two hands, I will tear fate asunder. I will break this fate set before me, and with my two hands, I will claw us away out of this cycle that has entrapped us for so long. Maybe that's all we need. Ever needed, really. A little bit of hope and a lot of determination.
"Huntsmen make their own fate. That's what defines us."
Ozpin's lips turned upwards. With measured movements, he brought his hands together and clapped.
"I could have spoken it no truer than that. Indeed, this is what defines a Huntsman. We shall never be beholden to fate. You've come to this place from far and wide. From the shifting sands of Vacuo to the great hanging cities of Mistral, you have all come to this place, at this moment in time. These are your first steps to forging your own fate. It is up to you to take them."
With that, Ozpin gave an imperceptible nod to the congregation before him, his eyes lingering ever so noticeably on Jaune. A blonde woman took the stage in lieu of its conductor, but he tuned her out, already lost within his own mind.
At some point he knew he'd have a confrontation- nay, not confrontation, but discussion, with Ozpin. The man was his family's most loyal ally for well over three millennia. It wasn't that he was afraid of the man. As embarrassing as it was to admit it to himself, he was worried that he'd not meet the man's perceived expectations of him.
His lineage was that of incredible warriors. Yet here he stood amongst a crowd of people his own age that had years of training on him. There was a larger part of him yet that questioned this.
He trained under a Pathfinder for over two years. He worked, lived, and slept amongst seasoned Huntsmen on the very fringes of humanity's territory on the Saunan continent. As incomplete as it was, his training under the Azure Dragoon, Aymeric had been extremely fruitful. What was there to truly worry about, then?
His forgotten acquaintance beside him cleared her throat, relieving him of his internal musings. He looked over at Weiss, returning her cocked eyebrow with one of his own.
"If you're quite finished admiring the vanish of the stage, I do believe I am owed a debt from your brutish mannerism earlier. As such, I will collect said debt by having you accompany me to the cafeteria," she said, quickly turning on her heel and briskly marching off, leaving no room for debate.
Shrugging his shoulders, he trailed after his white-haired acquaintance, albeit at a much more leisurely pace.
That was how Jaune Arc had found himself seated across a cafeteria table from Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company. Their only company was the meager salad placed before her and the small sandwich that sat beneath his steepled hands.
"So, how does a member of one of the four noble Atlesian houses find herself at Vale's academy for Huntsmen-to-be? Too cold-blooded to stay in Atlas anymore?" Jaune asked.
If she found his quip antagonistic, she didn't show it. Her face was an impassive mask, probably honed over years of involvement in the high society of Atlas. He couldn't imagine growing up in such a way.
"How does the scion of the Arc find his lonesome way to Beacon Academy? Pray forgive if I offend, but I wasn't aware that there was a male in the family."
'Touchy about home and why she's here, isn't she?' Jaune pondered. The light feeling in the back of his mind told him that Aymeric had agreed.
Jaune took a bite of his sandwich, faux pondering the question for a moment. "Having seven sisters tends to steal the limelight away from you. I also wasn't the most… involved with familial affairs to begin with. Coupled with my father and I not seeing see eye-to-eye on my training led me to find my path elsewhere, which distanced me from the family further."
Her impassive mask faltered for a moment, the surprise at the frank honesty of his answer evident. She nodded her head once, distractedly poking at the salad before her.
"If you don't mind me inquiring, where did your path end up taking you?"
"Well, over some bumpy roads, winding curves, and rather precipitous heights if I were to be honest." He could already feel Crowley's trademark roguish grin gracing his face.
Weiss scoffed, but it wasn't hard to miss her obviously upturned lips.
"Pray forgive if I offend, but I was under the impression you Atlas nobility folks, namely the Schnee, were a little more abrasive in nature."
"You're a very straightforward person, aren't you?" Weiss retorted.
"I'm many things."
"Yes, well. I suppose you wouldn't be wrong to say as such. I lived and breathed that attitude for almost the entirety of my life. Yet, here I am in a new kingdom with a rather open road of opportunity before me. Here, I am not Weiss Schnee, heiress to the SDC, but Weiss Schnee, Huntress-in-training."
Jaune rose from his seat, locking eyes with the heiress before him. He studied her, attempted to pick apart the carefully constructed mask of Atlesian high society before him. Instead, he looked into her icy-blue eyes. He tuned out the world around him, allowing the Light to flow through his senses and decipher the mystery before him.
Prisoner. Chains. Determination. Rage. Rebellion. Freedom.
In her eyes, he saw the swirling flame of a caged wyrm, read to break free and take the world by storm.
The roguish grin returned tenfold.
"My name is Jaune Arc, Huntsman-in-training. It's a pleasure to meet you."
An outstretched hand.
An inquisitive gaze, and a small yet beautiful smile that brightened the angelic features of her face like the rising sun.
"Weiss Schnee, Huntress-in-training. The pleasure is mine."
Her soft hand took his.
The red threads of fate wove together intricately, the fate of the world forever changed.
Jaune had bid his newfound friend farewell a short while earlier. With the promise of finding her later tonight, he left her to her devices while he walked the campus grounds. He relished the soft breeze and the early rays of sunset soon come. Crowley's cloak gently tussled behind him.
The Light shifted around him. He looked up at the path before him and so stood the Headmaster. The Warrior of Light.
"I wondered how long it was going to take you to catch me out like this."
"If it makes you feel better, you did mysteriously escape the last time my agent came in contact with you."
Jaune walked forward before the man who stood a head taller than him. Ozpin's golden eyes pierced his very soul, deciphering the mysteries within that Jaune himself had yet to solve. His hair was a graying, tousled mess. His black and dark-green suit was immaculately cleaned, creased, and ironed.
Something told Jaune that it wasn't any work of Ozpin's that his clothes appeared as such.
"We've much to speak about, your highness."
Yeah, so remember that part where I said the next update would only be a few weeks away? Haha, yeah. Funny story.
Looking to update a little more frequently (yes, I mean it this time) now. As always, please review with your comments and criticisms!